


Invited In

by KellieWatchesNCIS (Kellie_116)



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellie_116/pseuds/KellieWatchesNCIS
Summary: It turns out that moving with a toddler you've just met all the way across the ocean to a city where you don't speak the language is not quite as easy as Tony first imagined. Luckily, a familiar face soon shows up to help with at least a few of his troubles - but will she bring some of her own?





	1. A Late-Night Visitor

Tony lets out a long sigh as he collapses heavily onto the couch. It turns out that completely uprooting your life to move from the apartment you've lived in for a decade and a half all the way across the ocean into a nation whose language you don't speak is  _exhausting_ , let alone doing it all with a toddler you've just met. Furthermore, while he has, of course, been thinking about his eventual retirement from NCIS, and has put aside a little bit of cash over the years, he never imagined he'd be settling down this soon, and without the NCIS pension he didn't quite put in enough years of service to earn. He's run the numbers, and while he's still not crystal clear on the exchange rate between dollars and euros, he can say with some certainty that he needs a job, and he needs a job soon.

So, as any monolingual, expat single father would do, he's spent the past few days combing the city of Paris, Tali-filled stroller in tow, in desperate search of anyone interested in hiring a retired American cop, as he has learned is the easiest way to introduce himself to potential employers. Trying to explain NCIS was difficult enough in Washington, where most people had the same native tongue and were somewhat familiar with the US Navy; here, apparently, it's just better not to try.

 _None of this is going like I planned_ , he laments. When he stood in Gibbs' basement and told him that he was going to take Tali to Paris, he realizes now that he romanticized what it would be like here. He's unemployed but still paying rent on his DC apartment - just in case things (perish the thought!) suddenly go the way of the last time he was in France - so he and his daughter are squeezed into a one-bedroom apartment in one of the seedier outskirts of Paris, with Tali sleeping in the small bedroom and Tony, because apparently he cannot sleep for worrying if he's in the same room with her, crashing on the living room couch in a very Gibbsean manner, indeed. (And seriously - there's not a single thing about this situation that he ever, even just six months ago, would've expected in his life.)

When he decided to come to Europe, he supposes he pictured gallivanting across the city, at least as much as one can gallivant with a three-year old, a stroller, and a diaper bag, learning and investigating and searching for anyone who might know anything about Ziva or her whereabouts. Instead, he and Tali are trudging rather grumpily through smelly, overcrowded streets while Tony continues his yet-fruitless search for gainful employment. He's been so busy trying to hold it all together, trying to make sure that the rent gets paid and the apartment is somewhat clean and he buys Tali the right kind of food, since there are  _no supermarkets_ here, and, oh yeah,  _everything is in French_ , that he's had almost no time to dedicate to finding Ziva, which he estimates infuriates him, breaks his heart, and gives him a headache in about equal portions.

He's rolled off the couch, the need to do something to tackle his headache outweighing the need to sit still and not move for about thirty years, and is headed to the kitchen to take what he thinks is a pain pill (but again, he can't really be sure, because  _everything is in French!_ ) when there is a knock on the front door that stops him dead in his tracks. It's not that there's anything about this particular knock that gives him pause, but rather the principle of the knocking; he didn't know a soul in the city when he deboarded the plane, and the only people he's talked to since are his landlord, whom he feels fairly confident would not be coming to call after midnight like this, and the people he's practically begged for jobs, who certainly don't know where he lives and who, even if they did have his address, are similarly unlikely to be at the door at this hour.

Tony's hand goes instinctively to his waist, searching for a holster which, between his recent retirement and the stringency of French gun control laws, is not there. He curses quietly, tries to tell himself that it's probably a neighbor needing to borrow a cup of sugar or something (is that still a thing? Was that  _ever_  a thing in France? Doesn't really matter; he doesn't have any sugar.) and creeps as quietly as he can towards the door.

What was intended as a quick precursory glance through the peephole to size up his mystery visitor ( _How physically intimidating are they? Could I take them in hand-to-hand?_ ) very quickly has him weak at the knees as he stares, mouth gaping open, through the fisheye. Though perhaps not particularly physically intimidating to the casual observer, he happens to know that he absolutely could  _not_  take his guest in hand-to-hand, but when he regains some semblance of normal brain function after his initial shock, he fumbles eagerly with the lock, feeling fairly certain that this particular visit will not end in any sort of fisticuffs.

He can't seem to form any words as he flings the door wide open and stares. Given the whole of the situation, despite his complete and utter shock at this turn of events, he is certain he's the luckiest guy in this building tonight, if not the luckiest guy in all of Europe. Here he was, moping around on his sofa, taking mysterious French pills and feeling sorry for himself, and the very object of his distress shows up on his metaphorical doorstep. (The thought gets him derailed for a long second, imagining the three of them moving into a house in some neat an anonymous suburb with a yard he loves to complain about mowing and a cute little welcome mat on an actual doorstep. He puts a pin in that thought; he needs to be 100% focused on what's happening here and now, but it's definitely a mental image to which he intends to return.)

Ziva smiles warmly, and it suddenly occurs to him that his mouth is probably still hanging open like a dumb fish. He checks in as subtly as he can with his facial muscles, and  _yep, it sure is_.  _Real nice, Tony._ He picks his jaw up off the floor and tries to manipulate his face into some kind of welcoming look, something that says 'It's nice to see you,' or 'I'm really glad you're not dead,' instead of just 'oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god.' Though he's unsure how successful he is at this task, she doesn't turn and run, which he counts as a good sign.

Instead, she just keeps smiling, and finally says, "Well? Are you going to invite me in?"


	2. A Long Talk

_"_ _Well? Are you going to invite me in?"_

"I, uh – yeah – um, come on in," Tony says eloquently. Ziva waits in the dimly lit hallways with commendable patience for Tony to realize that she can't actually come in until he stops physically blocking the doorway.

Eventually, he steps back just enough to allow her to slide past him into the apartment. Tony spares only the briefest of moments to wonder how Ziva found him before deciding that he absolutely does not care. Maybe he'll want to know later, but right now, with Ziva completely alive, entirely unexploded, and standing in the living room – it's not really  _his_ living room, at least not yet, but it's a living room in which he is also standing, so that's what counts – she could have taken literally any measures to locate him and he would. Not. Care.

They're still standing, a little awkwardly, perhaps, thought Tony would never admit it, just inside the door. Ziva takes a long look around, and he thinks maybe she's going to say something frivolous like  _nice place_ , but it isn't and she doesn't and he's glad. They've never been much for telling little lies to make each other feel better ( _only big lies that really pack a punch_ , he muses, thinking not just of Tali but of Jeanne, too, and of everything in between), and he's glad that that, at least, hasn't changed.

A long moment passes as Ziva takes in the apartment – bland, empty white walls, dingy carpet, no furniture to speak of save for the sofa on which Tony is, based on the sheets and pillow, very obviously sleeping – and Tony takes in Ziva. She looks good, and it's not that he's surprised so much as he's relieved.  _Of course Ziva looks good_ , he tells himself,  _Ziva always looks good_ , but he can't stop that little voice in the back of his brain that's telling him to break out the streamers and balloons because she doesn't appear to have spent the past few weeks being tortured.

"How's Tali?" Ziva finally asks, and Tony has to stop himself from running into her room to shake her awake because Ima's here, and she's been asking for her and crying for her every night since she met Tony, and he's sure Ziva's been crying for Tali, too. Hard as it is, though, he doesn't. He and Ziva need to talk, need to have conversations they've literally been putting off for years, and there are some things Tali doesn't need to see or hear (to say nothing of the fact that he's only just managed to get her back on a semi-regular sleep schedule; jet lag has always made him irritable, but apparently that's nothing compared to the havoc it can wreak on the entire existence of a small child.)

"She's good," he says with a nod. It isn't strictly true, but she's safe, which is what counts, and he's not sure that opening this conversation with  _she's tired and grumpy and she doesn't understand anything that's happening and apparently being forced to eat French baby food is the absolute worst fate that can befall a person, if her reactions to it are to be believed_ is going to set the right mood (though he has no idea what would, either.) "She misses her mother," he adds, which is both very, very true and gets her to smile a little like he'd hoped it would. "I miss her mother, too. She was a pretty cool lady."

When she finally tears her gaze away from the wall to meet Tony's, the look in her eyes is completely heart-wrenching. As he forces himself to stay where he is rather than crossing the short distance between them and wrapping his arms around her to keep her safe from whatever is hurting her – even, and perhaps especially, if it is herself – he wonders how many more times he can restrain himself from going with his gut instinct during this conversation.

"I am so sorry, Tony," Ziva whispers.

Determined not to let the circumstances dampen his usual spirit (if nothing else, Ziva's mood sure makes it seem like she could use some jokes), Tony raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," he tuts. "You should know better by now – it's a sign of weakness." He's smiling, but she isn't, so he lets the grin drop away.  _Her condition may be more serious than I thought_ , he decides.

She eyes him carefully for a moment before saying softly, "It has been a long time since I cared about the rules much," she admits. Although he's sure everything she's been through the past few years – raising a secret child on her own ( _not like she didn't have a choice in that, though_ ), faking her own death, and sneaking around Paris – hasn't exactly been a cakewalk, Tony feels a bubble of envy in his chest.  _I hope I stop caring about the rules someday. Maybe I'll write my own instead_.

"I do worry, though," Ziva continues, shaking Tony from his thoughts, "that I have broken rule number one." She looks very serious, and he really thinks about matching her in tone and temperament, but he's already resisted waking Tali and hugging Ziva, so his impulse defenses are pretty depleted, so instead he grins widely and a bit lasciviously.

"'Never screw your partner?' Oh, Z, we broke the absolute  _hell_  out of that one." He's still grinning, and he really did intend it as just a joke. He wanted to break the tension and lighten the mood, and what better way to do it, he figured, than sexual humor? As he spoke, though, he was looking at Ziva, really looking at her, remembering their "very fond farewell," as he'd described it to McGee, and somehow sexual humor became instead a very tender reminder of what they'd shared.  _Huh_.

Jokes and memories aside, though, Tony knows good and well that's not what rule one is, and Ziva knows that's not what rule one is, and, most importantly, Ziva knows that he knows that that's not what rule one is. She cracks the tiniest of smiles, he swears, but it's gone from her face just as quickly as it appeared, and she's still looking at him like the entire world is falling apart – and for all he knows, he realizes, it could be.

"'Never screw  _over_  your partner,'" Ziva reminds him firmly. "I am sorry that I screwed you over. It was never what I intended."

He can't do it anymore, just stand here looking at her breaking apart, so he reaches out to, at the very least, lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her tiny but sharp intake of breath and her half-step backwards so that she's just out of reach pierce straight through his chest, and his heart sinks to his stomach as he realizes that he's spent the past three-almost-four years missing her, loving her, wishing she were with him, but that's no guarantee that she feels the same.  _What if she doesn't want me?_  He swallows hard in a physical manifestation of his efforts to keep at bay the panic and terror rushing over him:  _Oh my god. She's just here for Tali. She's going to take Tali and leave and I'm never going to see them again and I'll be stuck here all alone in this ugly apartment with no job and no family._

Another second passes, and he realizes that he still hasn't spoken, and it's his turn. Fighting to keep his breathing normal, he shakes his head and tries to reassure her, tries to convince her that he's not mad, that he wants her around, that she doesn't need to run from. "Ziva, you didn't – "

With a wave of her hand, which he's pretty sure is the most she's moved since she came inside, Ziva interrupts him. "Yes, Tony, I did. I disappeared and I let you think I was dead and I left you with a child you never wan –"

 _Oh, hell no_. Tony hates to cut her off, and he really did intend to let her say her piece before telling her how wrong she is, but he is absolutely not going to stand here and let her diminish his relationship with Tali. That's the line, and she's just crossed it, so he snaps, a little louder and a little harsher than he really means, "Hey!"

Alarm is written all over Ziva's face as her voice dies in her throat. She looks at Tony, eyes wide, waiting, and he swallows hard. He knew they'd have this conversation at some point, but honestly, he thought he would have a little more time to plan for it first.  _Well, no time like the present._

"Yeah," he says, his voice low and a little raw. It's taking everything he has to keep his emotions in close enough check to have something that resembles a reasonable conversation. "You disappeared. But I never thought you were dead.  _Never_." At her skeptical look, he elaborates, "Rule 3: 'Don't believe what you're told.' Rule 8: 'Never take anything for granted.'" He pauses, then adds, a little more quietly, "Rule 36: 'If you feel like you're being played, you probably are.'"

"Ziva, they never found a body," he reminds her.

"I'm still using it," she quips, and Tony grins, because  _that's_ his Ziva: meeting his banter toe-to-toe, not sniffling and apologizing and pulling away, both figuratively and literally.

"Exactly. I knew you had to be. We had –  _I_ had no way to prove that you were gone, no way to double check. All I had was other people's word. It – it just couldn't be true. I absolutely felt like I was being played – you're not going anywhere until you're good and ready, and even then, not without saying goodbye first, right Z?"

He's smiling, but he's waiting on her to agree, waiting on her to say that yes, she's sticking around, waiting on something he can hold her to, because he's thinking there is very little he wouldn't do right now to keep her around. He needs her, and Tali needs her, and –  _oh_. Tali. With all this talk of rules and bodies and appropriate goodbyes, he's almost forgotten what Ziva started to say about him and Tali. He's glad he remembers, though, despite the way the sentiment makes his blood boil, because there is no way he's going to let that kind of thinking go unchecked.

He takes a step towards her, makes eye contact for a long moment, then takes her hands in his as gently as he can. "Ziva," he whispers. He can hear the pain in his own voice, but he doesn't let it stop him. He  _is_ in pain; it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if Ziva knew just a little of how much what she said hurt him. "Do not ever,  _ever_  question how much I love our daughter. Do you hear me? I – please. Do not question that."

Both their hearts pulse at the words  _our daughter_. It's what they've both been dreaming of, a life where they are together and they are safe and they can walk into any room and say  _hello, this is the love of my life and this is our beautiful daughter,_ and no one can stop them. Ziva gives his hands the smallest of squeezes. "I am sorry, Tony," she says, and while he appreciates the sentiment, he is growing weary of listening to her apologize. What's done is done, and apologizing won't change it. (He's also beginning to wonder if maybe Gibbs has rule 6 more for his own benefit than anyone else's, to keep him from having to field an onslaught of apologies from his team when things go sideways.) "I am sure that you love her," Ziva continues. "I did not mean to imply otherwise. But come on, Tony, you cannot honestly tell me that you wanted children."

In frustration, Tony lets his hands drop to his sides, though he immediately misses the contact and regrets that decision. Although he never specifically said that he wanted kids, he's also certain that Ziva never  _asked_ , and he hates when people assume they know things about him. She's right, of course, to a certain extent; he definitely wasn't picking out baby names or painting the nursery when they last saw each other, but the implication that he was unhappy to be a father makes him burn. His conversation with Director Elbaz flashes violently through his head before he can stop it: ' _She knew you wouldn't be pleased.'_

Tony takes a small step back and a deep breath. His next words need to be clear; there is no room here for misunderstanding. "Ziva," he begins, locking his eyes in hers before he continues. "This may not be how I ever imagined things," he pauses to make sure she's following him and to give them both a moment of preparation for his next words: "But when Director Elbaz told me about Tali, my  _only_  regret was that I didn't hear it from you in the beginning."

Ziva drops her gaze and lets out a slow breath. When she speaks, she doesn't look up, her eyes still fixed on one of the many mysterious stains on the apartment's carpeting. "I was wrong," she concedes. "I should have told you. I spent every day for months wishing that I had told you, but then she was here, and you were settled, and I did not want to – "

"Disrupt my life. Yeah, I heard," Tony finishes. His closes his eyes for a long second. Everything is getting almost overwhelming, but they have to get this out there. They have to clear the air, have to be on the same page. "But Ziva," he chokes out, "I would've – god, if I had known I would have been there. I would have been with you, wherever you were. I would have held your hair back when you were sick and I would've driven to the store for ice cream in the middle of the night and I would've carried around an ultrasound picture to show to anyone who would stand still long enough to look at it. I would've  _been there_." He doesn't remember moving, but he's the closest he's been to her since she got here, the closest he's been to her in years, clutching her hands in his like she'll slip away the moment he lets go, staring into her eyes like his whole world is there.

A sob escapes her throat, and it's as he's wrapping his arms fiercely around her that he realizes he's also crying, silent tears streaking down his face. "I should have called you, Tony" she murmurs into his shoulder. He rubs a hand gently across her back the way he knows sometimes makes her feel better, and she cries harder because of  _course_  he remembers how she likes her back rubbed.

After what feels like forever, but the best forever he's ever spent, Tony shifts position so that he's got one hand wrapped around her waist and is standing beside her, reaching across his chest to gently stroke her hair with his other hand. "C'mon, Z," he says softly as he guides her towards the sofa. They still have so much to talk about, but she knows he would've been there, she knows that he loves Tali, and that's almost enough. He's got a sinking feeling, though, that making sure she knows how much he loves  _her_  may be the real challenge.

She realizes, after just a moment, that they're heading for the couch, and she gives a short laugh, wet with tears but genuinely amused, like she, too, is thinking that maybe they're going to be okay. "Why, Agent DiNozzo," she drags out, and they both know he's not an agent anymore – at least, he's pretty sure she knows; he supposes she could be under the impression he's working at the Paris field office, but he suspects she knows better – so she's using the honorific merely in jest, a false formality designed to highlight the impropriety she implies when she asks, "Are you taking me to bed?"

"You wish, Ziva," he retorts with a grin, and her eyes and mouth both fly wide open. "Unfortunately for you, I am only taking you to couch." He thinks briefly about formally introducing the two ( _'Couch, meet Ziva. Ziva, couch._ ) but thinks better of it as they sit side-by-side on the sheet-clad cushions. It's a pretty long couch – Tony's been sleeping on it, so it has to be – so there's no need to sit so close that they can practically hear each other's heartbeats, but they do it anyway.

"The couch where you  _sleep_ ," Ziva points out rather astutely, raising her eyebrows, smiling mischievously, and plucking at the sheet to emphasize her point.

"Why, David!" Tony feigns shock. "You truly are a great investigator. You, ma'am, have not lost your touch. I must know: whatever gave it away?" Ziva laughs, and Tony's heart soars. They needed to talk – they  _still_ need to talk, really – but this is what he's missed. The physical aspect of their relationship was amazing, of course, but nothing could ever hold a candle to smiling and laughing and messing around with Ziva, his partner, his love, but mostly his friend. None of that to say that he doesn't want more – he always has, and he suspects he always will, with her – but as they grin like idiots at each other, miles and miles from home in this ugly little apartment on this lumpy old couch, he knows that if this is all she can give him, this will be enough.

She shakes her head and teases, "First that awful little bed, and now the couch. Do not let Gibbs fool you, Tony, grown men are not meant to sleep on sofas." Tony laughs a little at the casual mention of their former boss, and he wants to know more –  _have you spoken to anyone else? What about before you "died?" I never heard from you, but were you talking to them behind my back? It's okay if you were – well, no, it's not okay, it's disappointing and kind of hurtful, but I'm not going to be mad_  – but now is not the time for that. Now is the time for making fun of Tony and his dumb sleep habits, and he loves it. "The next thing I know, you will be sleeping on the floor!" Ziva points out, throwing her hands up in what he thinks is false exasperation, though it could just as easily be genuine.

He smirks, but then turns serious. "If I did, would you stay?" he asks, and Ziva scrunches up her nose the way she always does when she's confused and Tony has to work really hard to remember the conversation at hand instead of letting himself get lost in how completely adorable it is when Ziva scrunches up her nose. "If I slept on the floor, would you stay?" he tries to clarify. "I've got another pillow around here somewhere. "I'll sleep on the floor and you can have the couch – it's very glamorous, only the height of luxury for you –" he has to remind himself not to say  _only the height of luxury for my girl_  like he wants to, because they've come a long way in the past hour, but he has no idea where they are on that front, really – "Just stay. Get some sleep, and we can wake up Tali together in the morning. She'd – god, she'd love to see you, Ziva," his voice cracks, because Tali misses her mother so much that it breaks his heart. "She misses you so much.  _I_ miss you so much. Please. Just stay."

The look in Ziva's eyes is unreadable – she's always been good (or bad?) like that – and the silence nearly kills him.  _She's going to say no. This is it. She's going to tell me that she's taking Tali and leaving. Oh, god. I'm not ready. I can't do this. I cannot do this._ "I cannot stay here, Tony," she finally says, and his stomach leaps to his throat and he's swallowing tears and screams and vomit.

She places a hand gently on his leg. "I cannot stay here," she repeats gently, "And neither can my family. I will not stand for it." The actual meaning of her words is lost on Tony for a long moment, because the only thing he hears is  _my family_.

 _If she just meant Tali, she'd've just said Tali,_ Tony thinks, and his heart is pounding in his chest so hard that he's briefly worried it's going to fly right out onto the couch, but if this is where he dies, at least he will meet his Maker knowing that he and Ziva and Tali are a family.

"I have an apartment," she explains, and Tony has to work double-time to realize what she's talking about, but when he catches up a hopeful smile begins to spread across his face. "I rent it under an alias, but it is mine, and it is safe. There is a bed, and it has room for two people. It is truly 'the height of luxury,'" she teases.

Tony swallows, then swallows again, because she teased that he was taking her to bed, but she really is inviting him to come home with her, to sleep in her bed in her apartment with their child in the next room. He hates himself for it, but old habits die hard, and his self-preservation won't let him just say yes without asking, "You been using that extra pillow much lately?"

The beautiful, hopeful smile on Ziva's face immediately crumples into hurt and disgust, and he knows he deserves it.  _She should leave. She should take Tali and go. I don't deserve her, I never have, I'm never going to_. Instead of leaving, though, she takes a long, deep breath and says quietly, "The last person who shared my bed was you, Tony," and that just twists the knife. He's been in DC, dealing with his loneliness by partying a little and sleeping around a lot, while Ziva's been goodness-knows-where, raising Tali on her own (which he can personally testify is no easy feat, and he's only been doing it a few weeks) and sleeping alone every night.

His face burns with the sudden feeling that he's spent three years cheating on Ziva. There are a million things he wants to say, but he finally goes with just, "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, you should not have," she agrees. Her voice is quiet and cold, and all the joking and teasing and laughter that filled the room just a few moments ago seems to have been in a past lifetime. Much to his surprise, though, she takes his hand, so he looks up and finds her eyes waiting to meet his. "But my offer still stands. Please. Come home with me."

Tony nods gently, dumbly, surprised beyond belief that she still wants him in spite of the big ugly foot hanging out of his mouth. "Of course," he whispers. He tries to remember where he put his suitcase, and starts cataloging what he'll need to pack for Tali, because if he's learned any one thing since that fateful day in Vance's office, it's that kids need a lot of  _stuff_  wherever you take them, and –

"Hey Ziva?" he asks suddenly.

She's smiling. After everything that's happened – that's happened in the past few years, that's happened the past few weeks, that's happened the past few hours – she's still smiling, and Tony finds himself completely and utterly in awe of this beautiful, wonderful woman. "Yes, my little hairy butt?" she deadpans, and Tony absolutely does not giggle. He doesn't. DiNozzos do not giggle.

Still recovering from that endearment from Ziva and his fit of not-giggles, it takes him a moment to remember what he actually wanted to ask. "Uh, what about Tali?" he says, well aware that that doesn't really make any sense, that he's not really asking an actual question.

To his immense pleasure, though, Ziva takes his fumbling absolutely in stride and says quite seriously, "Well, I think the polite thing would be to bring her along."

He's laughing and shaking his head even as he rephrases to explain what he was really asking: "No, I mean, her bed won't fit in my car, and I'm guessing you're not cruising around Paris in an SUV or a pickup truck."

It's quickly becoming apparent that Ziva is on an absolute roll tonight, because she looks Tony directly in the eye and says, "Don't be ridiculous. I drive a minivan."

Her tone is so serious and Tony is so anxious to find a solution and get going that he's really gotten halfway to the bedroom –  _okay, problem solved! Let's get this show on the road!_ – and is turning around to ask Ziva if she isn't coming, because the moment he turns the light on to start packing, Tali'll be awake, and he figures Ziva will want to be there when she wakes up when he realizes that Ziva is absolutely losing her mind in silent laughter back on the couch.

He smiles and sighs. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," he says affectionately, and falls back onto the sofa by her side. "Seriously, though, she has to sleep somewhere."

In a change of tone that has Tony's head spinning, the smile fades off her face and she looks downright nervous, like she has to confess something that Tony's not going to like. The mood is contagious, and Tony is suddenly almost nauseous again, because this is  _Ziva_  – she's not afraid of anything, so if something's making her nervous, it's got to be pretty bad.

"I, uh, I have a room for her at my place," she explains. She's actively avoiding eye contact, and Tony is very confused. Why is she so worried about letting him know she's got a two-bedroom? Is this because of his shabby little place? He's about to tell her that it's no big deal and she doesn't need to worry about his finances when he realizes that that explanation doesn't quite make sense; she's supposed to be explaining a solution for the fact that they can't move Tali's bed, and unless she's planning that their daughter sleep on the floor – which he doubts is what she intends, and if it is, he has some serious concerns – just having a second bedroom isn't a solution at all. He thinks back to what she actually said, though,  _a room for her_ , and the metaphorical lightbulb goes off: Ziva has a bedroom already set up and furnished for Tali at her apartment.

"Well, that's perfect, then," Tony says, but  _perfect_  is a stretch, because something's still bugging him. He almost lets it go, but he's had enough secrets and omissions with Ziva to last a lifetime, and he really doesn't care to keep any more, so he turns back to her instead of going to the bedroom to pack a bag. "Hey, Ziva?" he says hesitantly, and this is killing him, because it's so sweet that Ziva has a room ready for Tali, and he wants to just let it be sweet and nothing else, but he just can't. "What was your game plan here?"

She blinks and furrows her brow. "My game plan?" Tony's heart clenches tight in his chest. God, he loves her, and he wants this so much, wants to pack a bag for him and a bag for Tali and drive across town to Ziva's  _luxurious_  apartment where there's a bedroom for Tali and a pillow for him and forget all about whatever else could've happened. He needs to know, though, so he pushes ahead.

He swallows hard, but forces the words out, anyway. "If I'd been mad, if you'd gotten here and I hadn't wanted to talk, hadn't wanted to cut up on the couch with you and come sleep on that other pillow in your apartment, what would you have done?"

"What do you mean?" Her face is blank, and his heart is racing, and he's asked many difficult questions over the years, but this one might take the cake.

"Ziva. You're all ready for Tali to come live at your apartment. You already kept her from me for years. If I was – if I didn't want to come with you, were you going to take Tali away? Was I ever going to see either of you again?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the longest chapter of anything that I've ever written, but I didn't want to break up the conversation before Tony asked the big question. Thanks for sticking with it!


	3. A New Life

_“If I didn’t want to come with you, were you going to take Tali away? Was I ever going to see either of you again?”_

 

Ziva blinks several times, mind-numbingly slowly, her eyebrows knit together just enough to suggest that she might be genuinely surprised or even confused by Tony’s question. His heart is pounding so fast that he feels like he’s just run a marathon, and though he hasn’t been running in a long time, he’s thinking even that might be less painful than sitting here on this couch waiting to find out if Ziva was planning to take his child from him _again_.

 

“I would not have taken her, Tony,” she whispers, her voice so soft that it’s likely that if he hadn’t been watching so closely, he might’ve missed it. He swears his pulse completely stops at that, and he’s beginning to think that if he’s going to be spending more time with Ziva, he might need to find an English-speaking cardiologist to assess the strain on his heart.

 

She looks up at him, finally, and her eyes are shining with tears again, which he _hates_. “I do not know what we would have done,” she admits. “I tried to pretend it was not a possibility, because I need you. I need you with me. I cannot do it alone anymore.”

 

When Tony found out Vance was sending him afloat, he was shocked. When he found out his father was engaged to his godmother, he was shocked. When he found out he fathered a child with Ziva, he was shocked. Now, though, with Ziva sitting here and telling him that she needs him, shocked is way, way in the rearview mirror and he feels like he can’t breathe. In some distant, still rational part of his brain, he’s glad he’s sitting down, because he otherwise would certainly have fallen right over.

 

Apparently Ziva notices the cataclysmic reaction he’s having to her confession, because she very carefully, gingerly if Ziva ever has been, places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asks, and if he had enough air in his lungs, he would laugh.

 

“I’m,” he chokes out, then realizes he doesn’t know what he is, and takes a moment to try and figure it out – _I’m stunned. I’m overwhelmed. I love you. If I died in this moment, I would have had a fulfilling life, but I can’t die because apparently you need me, which is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard because I’m usually the one needing people. I don’t know if I can ever be enough for you._

 

“I’m surprised,” Tony finally says, trying to downplay his emotions even as he grips the edge of the couch to remind himself that this is real, this situation is tangible, he’s not dreaming. When he meets her eyes, though, he’s sure she can read like a book the depth of his so-called surprise, and he hopes she doesn’t find herself swimming there – relaxed, powerful, beautiful, safe – rather than drowning.

 

She takes his hands in hers, and though she’s the one who just confessed to needing Tony, he realizes he’s holding onto her like his life depends on it. She’s telling her she needs him, but she still holds all the valuable cards here, and he’s sacrificed everything to hold onto the hope that she was out there and would want him.

 

He left his job, his home, his friends, his father, and even his beloved goldfish (flying with pets is always a hassle, and he didn’t want to risk their tiny lives by putting them in small TSA-approved containers long enough to fly from DC to Paris, so he very reluctantly left them back in Washington with Tim, who’s under strict instructions – both verbal and written – regarding the care of little Kate and Ziva, and threat of bodily harm should such instructions be breeched) to move to Paris with only the instinctively-held belief that Ziva was alive. Though he’s held onto his apartment for now and he knows that Senior, Gibbs, McGee, and even Abby would be there to support him if he showed up at their doors unannounced tomorrow, he can’t help the overwhelming feeling that Tali and Ziva are everything, that they’re all he has. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he needs more – more of what, he’s not sure, but _more_ – but from the ferocity with which she holds his hands and stares into his eyes, maybe she already knows.

 

“Leaving Tali was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” she says fiercely. Tony’s breath catches in his throat, because of course it was, but also because saying it out loud says so much, especially since it’s Ziva talking. _Harder than losing her sister. Harder than killing her brother. Harder than being held against her will for weeks and weeks. Harder than crying over the body of her murdered father._

 

“I would never, ever do that to you, Tony,” she continues, and his heart breaks into a million pieces and stitches itself together all in a single moment. They’ve been alone for so long, and now they are together. They’ve been defending their own selves, and now they are fighting for one another. They’ve left destruction in their wakes, and now they have made three new lives. They’ve lost everything, and now they are finding it again, and creating it new in the spaces where it’s gone forever.

 

He takes his hand from hers only as long as it takes to wrap his arms around her and pull her so close that they’re almost one person. “I love you,” he breathes, and he knows that they words aren’t enough and she knows that the words aren’t enough but they’re all that they have, so she says it back and then neither is sure how it happens but there are hands and lips everywhere and it’s not until their shirts have disappeared somewhere behind the couch and they’ve finally come up for air that Tony remembers that they’re still sitting the his couch-slash-bed in an tiny, ugly Paris apartment, and that their daughter is sleeping in the next room, and that they’re supposed to be packing and getting the hell out of dodge.

 

 _There’ll be plenty of time for this later_ , he reasons, and grins widely at the thought as he says to Ziva, “Hey. Let’s wake up our daughter and go start our life.”

 

She’s off the couch almost before he finishes talking, and he races her to the bedroom to wake up Tali together for the first of what he is sure will be many, many times. _I can’t wait_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap on Invited In! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
